


Ivory and Gold

by Slytherin_Princess_Nysa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Arya and Robb are twins because why not, Endgame Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, F/M, Falling In Love, Gendry Waters is a Baratheon, Gendrya - Freeform, Gendrya Big Bang, Independent North (ASoIaF), King Ned Stark, Married Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry Waters, Princess Arya Stark, Romance, SO, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, actual canon? never met her clearly, honestly knowing me it could have been worse, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa/pseuds/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa
Summary: The North is independent, led by King Ned as he prepares his two eldest children for their future roles. When word comes from beyond the Wall that the ancient enemy has returned, everyone must make a sacrifice for the greater good of Westeros.Arya didn't think she would be the one to encourage her own engagement. Hell, she never thought she'd be getting married, let alone willingly to a prat with a golden crown on his head. She'd barely talked to Gendry before the ceremony and if she had any say in it, she wouldn't talk to him much after either.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Arya Stark & Robb Stark, Arya Stark & Val, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 45
Kudos: 115





	1. The Heirs of the Realm

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for Gendrya Big Bang 2020

**~Gendry Baratheon~**

Gendry had barely started on his breakfast before one of his father’s servants was urging him away from the dining table and into the first Small Council meeting of the day. Gendry glanced back as his breakfast tray was taken away and rose to his feet, following after the servant. It was his own fault that he didn’t have enough time to eat, he’d lazied around in bed the better part of the sunrise and, his stomach growled to remind him, he was paying for it now.

“Your Highness,” the royal guards bowed lowly as Gendry passed by them and stepped into the council chambers, leaving his own guards outside the doors.

The Lords all stood from their chairs in respect and Gendry nodded towards each of them before sitting next to his father's empty seat. It wasn’t a surprise for Gendry to represent his father in these meetings, Robert rarely graced anyone with his presence and soberly, even less.

As soon as he’d sat down, the rest of the men followed suit. Gendry pulled the stack of parchment towards him and began to skim over the first page, the others politely giving him the chance to catch up.

The papers in his hands were mostly the same as every other day, requests from Lords for better weapons or more men and supplies.

“Prince Gendry,” Varys’ smooth voice broke Gendry out of his concentration. “If I may,” Gendry nodded, smoothing the papers down on the table in front of him. “The food shipments being sent to the lower parts of King’s Landing have become smaller and less frequent. If things continue this way, the people will be starved and angry with the Crown, they will blame us for their suffering and we will have a revolt on our hands.”

“What do you suggest?” Lord Tyrell said with his chin lifted. “The majority of Highgarden’s harvest goes to our armies, then the highborns of Westeros. What do you suggest we do, take food out of our own mouths, our children’s, and put it on the plates of those dirty lowborns in Flea Bottom?” he scoffed.

“If we don’t feed the army,” Lord Tywin joined, his tone set and calculating eyes on his grandson as he spoke. “It shows our enemies we’re weak. Before we know it, Dorne will decide they want to expand up. Or those godsforsaken Northerners will try to take the Riverlands, their Queen is a Tully after all. We have to strengthen ourselves.”

“The way we make ourselves strong,” Gendry began, fingers knotted in front of him on the table. “Is by ensuring the people are alive and supporting us. That means caring for them.Lord Varys,” he nodded to the man as he rose. “Make sure several carts of wheat are sent to Flea Bottom right away.”

“Prince Gendry, I urge you to reconsider.” Lord Tyrell said but Lord Varys had already left the council chambers, intent on following Gendry’s orders.

“I trust our armies to be able to defend Westeros from any threat, whether it be Dornish or Northern.” Gendry lifted his brow, staring down the plump older man. “Don’t you, my Lord?”

“Of course,” Lord Tyrell jerked his head in a nod, agreeing with Gendry. But it was all for show. Gendry knew that he had grown used to the games the Lords and Ladies of Westeros loved to play. Especially in Court where the right scheme could gain you favour with other nobles, or, the more sought after, royal family.

And contrary to the popular opinion in Court, Gendry had a good head on his shoulders. He wasn’t as brutish or pigheaded as his father, Gendry was rather proud to have little in common with his father other than a striking similarity to Robert when he was younger.

“Well then,” Tywin rapped his fingers impatiently. “Now that the least important matter has been settled, shall we move on to the real reason we’re here.”

Stannis had been quiet until now, he stood board stiff in his chair, as always. “The annual meeting is coming up and-”

The door slammed open and King Robert stormed inside. Gendry and the Lords of Westeros had barely stood before Robert rounded the table to his seat. Queen Cersei gracefully walked in behind her husband, long skirts moving like waves around her legs with each step. She leaned down to kiss Gendry’s forehead when she reached him, something that Gendry was sure would embarrass any other man his age but Gendry loved his mother and he was one of the only people Cersei loved.

“Your Grace,” Tywin prompted the seething King.

“That fucking, ungrateful bastard.” he shouted and Cersei gripped Gendry’s shoulder. “After everything I’ve done for him, he has the nerve-”

“Ned Stark sent a raven.” Cersei interrupted his rampage and Robert’s head snapped around to her, bloodshot eyes narrowed in fury. Gendry straightened his back, placing himself firmly between the King and his mother.

“What did it say?” Stannis asked.

Robert opened his mouth, no doubt a series of insults on the tip of his tongue, but it was Gendry’s mother who spoke instead. “King,” Robert scoffed. “ _King_ Ned has elected to allow hundreds of Wildlings past the Wall.”

The room burst into noise - ranging from outrage to shock. Gendry looked up at his mother. Cersei’s face was blank, a little twitch in her lip was the only sign that she was listening to the men around the table. She was cool and collected. Gendry turned towards his father. Robert was the opposite, his face only showed emotion. Anger most of all, but Gendry could smell the wine on his breath and see the glaze in his eyes. It was a clear difference between them - control and lack thereof.

Stannis slammed his hands down, shaking the table and every pair of eyes focused on him. His uncle wasn’t a man of many words but when he spoke, people listened and Gendry admired him for that. “Why would he do that?”

“To raise an army and take _my_ throne!” Robert yelled, his body shaking with the force of his fury. “I always knew he wouldn’t be happy with just the North. The noble act never suited him, the Starks have been just as bloodthirsty as the rest of us but he plays high and mighty! Good King Ned, they call him, like he didn’t earn his crown by betraying me! He swore to me-” Gendry rubbed his temples at the pounding headache building behind his eyes. “ _Swore_ he would serve the realm under my rule as Warden of the North but-”

“We know the story, Robert,” Stannis interrupted passingly. “Our concern right now is what their plan is, why they’re letting so many of those _people_ ,” he spat. “Into our lands.”

Gendry loved both of his uncles, but Stannis was the more level headed brother. Even if Robert would scream and shout if he knew how Gendry felt about it, Gendry thought Uncle Stannis would have made a much better King - maybe Dorne and the North wouldn’t have become independent then. Because as much as Robert liked to spin the tale of Ned abandoning him for his own political rise, Gendry knew the real story.

His mother had let it slip when Gendry was nine, after Robert had gotten into his cups and made off with one of the servants in front of Cersei one too many nights in a row. Up until that day, Gendry had worshipped the ground his father walked on - until he saw his real father. The Robert who drank too much and slept with every woman who caught his eye. The Robert who only kept his crown thanks to the Lannister’s money.

“I want you all to start recruiting and training more men, ages four and ten and up.” Robert ordered. “I want you making more weapons and arming our men with the best. And start making winter clothes for a march North if we need it.”

“Father,” Gendry tried not to choke on the word. He only called him that when they were around other people and the word sat unfamiliar on his tongue. “Why prepare for war when we don’t know the whole situation? Did the letter say anything else?”

“Listen, boy,” Robert slurred, leaning his face close to Gendry’s. “I fought for this crown, I spilled blood and took life for this kingdom. I know war and I can smell it coming. You mark my words, we’ll be marching North before the first snow falls”

Gendry’s fingers curled tightly into fists. But before he could say anything, Stannis asked, “Did the letter say anything else?” Gendry breathed away his building anger, ignoring the way his father made him feel. Inferior, small, insignificant.

Robert turned away from his son and towards his brother. “Nonsense about the Others, the ancient enemy of all mankind coming back to kill us all. A bunch of horseshit to excuse his grab for more power.”

A brief laugh went around the room but Gendry didn’t laugh. He’d grown up with stories of the Age of Heroes and the Others. Maybe it was still his youthful mind that let him think it was all possible, but wasn’t it a King's job to listen?

“But,” Gendry said in the quiet room. “What if it’s real?”

What was that old saying? Trust but verify.

* * *

**~Arya Stark~**

Arya twirled the knife between her fingertips. The sharp blade grazed her fingers and Arya stared out across the rolling green hills surrounding Winterfell. This early in the morning the castle was just waking up, the kitchens coming alive to make breakfast and the night guards retiring to bed as they were replaced by the morning shift. And yet Arya sat awake, watching Winterfell come to life in the early rays of sunlight.

Arya shifted under the heavy fur cocooning her on the windowsill, it was becoming colder with each passing day, the cool winds licking at her face when she trained or went hunting with her brothers. The cold didn’t usually bother her, she was a true Northerner and her body was made for winter - high snows and thick ice. But she hadn’t been able to sleep all week, the weather creeping into her bedchamber and burrowing deep into her bones as she tossed and turned underneath her blankets. She had almost grown used to her fingers and toes being numb. No matter how close she stood to the fire or how many layers she wore, Arya felt the winter coming closer and it filled her with dread.

It wasn’t the snow or cold she feared. No, those things she welcomed willingly in comparison to what she knew would come with this winter - the dead, reanimated as puppets for the Great Others. Unholy monsters stepped straight out from the pages of the scary stories Old Nan used to tell them when they were children.

A knock came at her door and Arya stood from her little nook, leaving behind the fur and pulling her robes tightly around herself. Her father stood on the other side, standing tall against the cold. Arya smiled softly and stepped aside to welcome him inside her rooms.

“Are you leaving already?” she asked, moving towards the little table next to the lit fireplace and poured two cups of wine. “I thought the boys would want to sleep longer before being cramped in a carriage for days.”

“Thank you, little wolf.” her father took the offered cup and sat in one of the chairs, warming his hands on the flickering fire. “Your mother has gone to ensure preparations for our trip south are complete before waking your brothers. You know what little terrors they can be,” he laughed and Arya joined him.

“Days to Riverrun and even longer with grandfather?” she snorted into her cup. “They’re in for it, I can’t imagine how they’ll deal with grandfather’s strict rules.”

“You always hated it.” Ned sipped at his wine. “Every time he brought up your upcoming engagement you would make a face like you had just tasted rotten fruit. When he found out you had negotiated your way out of an arranged marriage, he was furious.”

“I think he was rather proud actually,” Arya smiled, finishing off her wine and feeling the warm buzz of alcohol in her stomach. “His granddaughter being devilishly conniving and overcoming unfair traditions.”

“I think you’re the only one who thinks that,” Ned chuckles. “To everyone else, your mother and I looked terrible for not marrying you off to some highborn heir before your six and ten nameday. But we made a deal with you and I plan to honour our agreement because-”

“Because a King is only as good as his word,” Arya rattled off the familiar words.

“You know the North was independent before,” he said, a somber look in his eyes. “Before the Targaryens conquered Westeros. We were free but we were barely surviving. And now…we can’t grow enough food to feed all of our people and when this winter comes the animals will be harder to hunt than ever. Soon our people will be starving outside the gates of this very castle, like they were hundreds of years ago.”

Arya nodded, “It’s why you married Sansa off to one of the Tyrell brothers - food from the Reach.” Arya could still remember Sansa’s excited face the day she had left Winterfell, dignified and proper as she stepped into her carriage. Arya hadn’t heard from her sister since then, but she knew their mother received the occasional letter in the three years since Sansa went away to the Reach.

“Yes, but that won’t last forever.”

“Why are we talking about this now?” she asked.

“Your mother and I are going to the Riverlands and after I’ll be headed to the annual meeting of Kings.” he sighed, reaching over to take her hands into his big rough ones. “You know I love you, little wolf. And I know you were always meant to be free but please,” he stressed. “Please consider marrying. Not just for the good of the North and our people but for your own happiness.”

Arya turned away, gripping his hands. “If you knew how badly the North would fare on its own, why did you demand our independence?” she whispered.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the story, but as always,” he stood from his chair and Arya looked up at her father as he shrugged his cloak on. “The real story is only known by the people who were there that day. Just know I did what I thought was best.”

“You always do, father.”

Ned leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head and Arya remembered a time when he would tuck her into bed as a child. She had a nurse that was supposed to do it but Ned never liked letting someone else see his little girl off to sleep, even when Robb complained that his twin got more attention at night. But his complaints were always halfhearted.

“Travel safe.”

“I always do.”

As soon as the door closed after her father, Arya shut her eyes tightly and sent a prayer to the Old Gods. Asking them to watch over her parents and younger brothers as they traveled. She wasn’t one to pray often but she would for her family. She prayed when they traveled and she prayed when Robb and their father went to meet the Freefolk named king.

And most of all, she prayed the day they opened the gates and let the freefolk through and began to prepare for the coming evil.

Shaking herself, Arya quickly dressed in warmer clothes. Trousers didn’t get her odd looks anymore, the people of Winterfell had grown used to her. The only ones who still judged her were the occasional visiting highborns and her mother.

Arya made it down to the dining hall just as the sun broke through the glass windows and spread beams of morning light through the hallways. Breakfast had already been served and Arya could see the empty plates being taken away even as she came in. Seeing the uneaten pieces of greens on the ground, Arya guessed her parents had tried to get some food into the boys before they left for Riverrun.

A plate was set in front of her and Arya smiled in thanks before beginning to eat her fill. After she finished she would go down to the training yard, take out her frustration at being stuck in Winterfell. Arya knew the real reason the halls of Winterfell were empty.

The great war was coming.

Her parents had gone to visit her grandfather for more than just the company, leaving the boys in the Riverlands would be safer than at home when the fighting began. And the annual meeting was a chance for her father to raise more men for the fight, Arya knew more sacrifices would have to be made. And as much as she hoped he hadn’t brought up her status as an unmarried woman to remind her that there was another way to gain allies and men, Arya knew better and knowing what they faced, she was willing to make that sacrifice.

“Arya?” a hand fell on her shoulder and her head snapped up. “Are you alright, little sister? I’ve been calling you.”

“I’m sorry,” she blinked and let her shoulders drop. “I’m fine, just lost in thought. Father came to visit me before he left this morning.” Arya pushed the remaining porridge around her plate as Robb dug into his food with vigor.

“What did he want?” he said around a forkful of food. “Anything interesting?”

“Short history lesson,” she said. “And a subtle reminder that I’m still unmarried.”

Robb chuckled, “Something tells me our mother had something to do with that bit.”

“More likely than not.” she pushed her plate away, crossing her arms and resting her chin. “Are you scared?” she whispered, studying his face as he swallowed slowly. “For the war.”

Robb picked at the toasted bread in his hand before tossing it back on his plate, appetite gone. “Yes,” his eyes met hers. “Not for myself, for you.”

“I can-”

“-take care of yourself, I know. But I also know who you are, Arya.” he reached out to take her hand and Arya marveled at how similar the action was to their father. “You’re going to try and be at the front lines because you’re a warrior, you were born to lead men into war. It’s the wolfblood in you.”

“You sound like Old Nan when you talk like that,” Dany called as she came through the door. She came around the table, squeezing Arya’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to Robb’s cheek as she found her seat across from Arya.

Dany had come to live with them when Robb and Arya were still in the care of wetnurses. Their father had brought her home from Robert’s Rebellion, a small screaming newborn wrapped in blankets to keep her from the cold. Of course, Arya couldn’t remember it but she had heard the story from her mother. About how much trouble Dany brought them - the last (or so thought the rest of Westeros) Targaryen living under the protection of the Starks.

“Seems Old Nan was right about a lot more than what we gave her credit for as children.” Arya thought of the cold blue eyes and flesh-scraped bodies the Freefolk described to her.

“Yes,” the blonde nodded. “She was, wasn’t she?” she asked no one.

The somber mood had shifted, the three of them sitting in silence and Arya could guess they were thinking the same thing as her. One day soon, this table could be empty. The castle could be abandoned and the halls and towers could crumble and fall. Winterfell could be turned to rubble and the floor covered with frozen blood.

“When will you be leaving for Dorne?” Robb asked and Arya took a sip of her wine to avoid looking him in the face. Dany had told her about her plans and begged her not to tell Robb, knowing full well Robb would rage and yell until she was on the first ship to Dorne.

“I’m not.” Dany muttered and Arya looked at Robb over the rim of her cup.

His face blanched and he slammed down his water without taking a drink, his head turning to her slowly. “What do you mean you’re not?”

Dany grit her teeth. “I’m staying. Winterfell is my home. You are my family. And I will not run away when you need me most.”

“I will not have this conversation with you,” he turned his body to her and Arya felt like an outsider suddenly.

Dany stood, the chair scraping against the floor loudly and Arya shrinked away. “I am staying! I can protect our home, same as you.”

“Not same as me! I can fight, I’m the future king.” Robb shouted back, rising to his feet. “Daenerys, I am the prince of the North and I will not have you here while war is upon us.”

“You do not command me!”

“The hell I don’t!”

“I am not leaving!”

“Yes, you are!”

“And you’re so sure of that, are you?”

“Apparently my order means nothing to you!”

“To be completely honest with you, _Prince_ Robb, at this moment, it does mean nothing!”

Arya grimaced and glanced at the door as their screams got louder.

She slid out of her seat as subtle as she could without neither of them noticed her, Arya moved fluidly towards the door. She quickly shut it behind her and nodded at a passing servant like she couldn’t still hear their yells as she sped down the hallway.

Once she caught sight of the empty yard, Arya rushed to the stable. If she couldn’t train and spend time with Robb and Dany was out of the question then she had some friends to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is straight up the Spongebob meme like  
> ‘Ight imma head out


	2. The Freefolk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WATCH ME SCRAMBLE TO FINISH THIS

**~Arya Stark~**

Arya rode as quickly as she could towards the Freefolk settlement a few hours away from Winterfell. She could have been there faster but the heavy bags of grain attached to her saddle made the pace much slower than she’d like. But Arya knew the Freefolk weren’t getting enough food, there wasn’t much to spare as it was and all the extra mouths to feed were taking a toll on the grain stores and her father. Her father’s hair had started to grey and the little wrinkles on his forehead had deepened, the sight saddened her.

Since crossing the Wall, the Freefolk had tried to adapt to the world on the other side. Or, as they liked to call it, the South, much to Arya’s annoyance. They tried to follow the rules Arya’s father had set for them and, thankfully, they listened to Arya when she came - less and less out of obligation and more out of a growing respect for her.

As her horse galloped over the fields and across valleys, Arya thought about her father’s words. Arya took his hints about marriage seriously because unlike her mother, her father didn’t want her to get married because it was expected of her but because he wanted her to be happy.

Perhaps she could convince herself to marry one of the freefolk, strengthening the bond between the Starks and their new allies in the face of what’s to come. She knew she would be more content with a warrior than a prissy lord sitting in a castle somewhere. Arya thought she could even be happy one day, here with the free people of the North.

Arya could see the new dusting of tents surrounding the bigger encampment and the puffs of grey smoke rising into the air from the distance and she glanced at the bags tied to her saddle, hoping it would be enough to get them through until the next delivery of food. It would be hard with the apparent new arrivals but sparingly, it would have to last.

As she approached, Arya pulled the reins of her horse to a stop, hopping down into the soft mud. A yell caught her attention and she turned, craning her head to look past the gathering crowd. Two bulky men had stripped down to their undergarments and were wrestling in the ground, mud caked their sweaty skin and knotted their hair. Arya grimaced and pulled her horse further into the heart of the camp and away from the fight.

Then again, a freefolk man might not be the best idea for her sanity.

Not even Arya could handle that much idiocy constantly, the lot of them half naked and fighting in the mud. Were the grown men or children running from their Maester?

A distant scream reached her and Arya shook her head leaning more towards the latter.

“I know that face,” Val appeared at her side, silent as a phantom. Arya had learned over the long weeks of visiting the Freefolk that no matter how much she prepared for it, Val still managed to sneak up on her.

“What face?”

“The one you make when you see how animal men are.”

“You mean this one?” Arya pulled down the corners of her lips for a harsh frown and furrowed her brows. “Or this one?” she thought of mushy greens and cringed with her whole face, her teeth clenched together.

Val laughed, throwing her blonde head back and steadying herself on the side of the horse. “I thought those two were your marriage faces.” Naturally, Arya flinched away “Hit a nerve, did I? What happened this time?”

“My mother and father are taking my younger brothers to our grandfather, for their safety,” Val raised her eyebrows, urging her on. “And,” Arya continued. “Father talked to me about getting married, about the North starving again.”

Val reached out, gripping her arm. “I’ve starved, Arya. I’ve had to fight for scraps of food and as much as we appreciate all you do for us now,” she glanced at the grain bags. “It isn’t enough to feed everyone regularly. We have to prioritize who gets fed and who has to wait their turn until the next day and with winter coming, I doubt it will get any better. I’m not telling you to marry the first flowery lord you meet, but maybe consider finding someone tolerable enough. For the sake of your people.”

Val had been married, or so Arya had heard around the settlement. Her husband had died while they were making their way to the Wall and a hope for escape. Sometimes Arya would catch Val looking at her side like she expected Jarl to appear there like he hadn’t been gone for months. He never did and Arya didn’t comment on it.

“That’s the only reason I am,” she looked towards the hastily collected weapons overflowing the wagons next to Mance’s tent. It was in the centre of the settlement, easy to run to and grab in case of emergency. “That and the extra men.”

They stopped in front of the entrance to the tent and Val gently pulled the reins out of her hands. “I’ll take care of this,” she nodded to the saddle. “You go in, I’ll be there soon.”

Arya nodded before turning on her heels and headed inside. Mance stood at the simple wooden table, staring down at a large map of the North. Arya recognized the little pieces and drawn landmarks from her many visits. A little piece of her naively hoped that somehow the pieces on the board that represented their army would have doubled over the last week.

No such luck.

“It does not look like the odds are in our favour.” Mance said, falling back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “And every one of us who dies adds to their numbers.”

“And so far we haven’t had any luck finding out how to kill the bastards,” she looked down at her belt. “Except Valyrian steel and we definitely can’t make enough of that for everyone in the time we have or with the resources we can access.”

Mance huffed out a humourless laugh, “The end of the world is comin’ with these winter storms and we’ll lose the war because the lords of Westeros are selfish with their coin purses.”

“The annual meeting between my father and the lords of Westeros and King Robert is happening in a little over a month’s time, my father will do everything in his power to bring us more men and weapons. He will not let us stand alone.” she said determinedly. “And we must do everything in our power to fight the dead before we join them.”

Mance watched her in scrutiny as she takes a seat at the table, “How does he plan on convincin’ these men to help us?”

“My father is a good man, a trusting man but not even his word will bring the strength of the South to us. Even with the Freefolk men he’s taken with him, I don’t think their word will mean much either. They need proof, one they can touch and be scared into taking action.”

He reclined in his chair, throwing his muddied boots on the table. “How are ye’ planning on doin’ that, Stark?”

“That’s the part I need your help with.” Mance raised his eyebrows. “I want to capture a wight and bring it to the meeting. What better proof could they have?”

He stared at her, this small girl with inquisitive eyes and sharp wit and Arya wondered what thoughts filtered through his head when he looked at her. Did he think she was delicate and needed protecting like everyone else in her life or did he see her as she truly was, a warrior?

“You want to capture a wight,” he repeated slowly. “And drag the damned creature all the way to the Riverlands for your father.”

“Yes.” she nodded firmly.

“I shouldn’t let you.”

“But you will.”

“Will what?” Val asked, coming through the tent flap with freshly baked bread. She caught Arya’s eye and explained, “From the last of last week's grain. I snatched it for us before it was handed out to everyone with the rest.” She cut a thick slice and held it out to Mance, “You need your strength if you are to lead us.”

“Thank you,” he chewed slowly and Arya declined the food but accepted a glass of water to distract herself while Mance thought her idea over.

She knew he would accept and she would be heading to the Wall before the day was through. He would be foolish to decline her plan, he knew how important getting allies was, especially now that winter was getting closer and closer.

When Mance had met with her father, he had told them that within the year, the Wall would fall. And once it had, the cold hand of death would reach out to turn everything warm and full of life to nothing but dead and frozen shells.

Going after the horde could cost Arya her life, the lives of whoever came with her but without solid proof, who would risk everything to come to the North’s aid only at the word of one man, good as he was?

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked back.

“A choice about what?” Val said around a mouthful of food. “What are you planning?”

Arya nodded at Mance as he rose, “I will gather some men for you.”

As he left, Arya felt Val’s eyes burning at the back of her head. “Arya?”

“I’m going beyond the Wall to capture a wight.”

Val threw her head back in a laugh and Arya watched her face change as she realized it wasn’t a joke. “You can’t be serious, Arya it’s a suicide mission! There’s hundreds of thousands of them. When I said consider doing what you think is best for your people, I didn’t mean this.”

“I know and I don’t want to go out there, I’m-” she shut her eyes and breathed deeply. “I’m afraid. But I won’t let that fear cost the lives of everyone in Westeros because they won’t believe the threat is real without proof and I intend on bringing them irrefutable proof.”

“I don’t know if I should admire your will to sacrifice everything for your people or think you’re daft for volunteering yourself like this.”

Arya grinned, “A bit of both?”

“I like the way you think, Stark.”

She watched Val eat in silence, imagining what would happen on the other side of the Wall. She hoped they would all return successful and without casualties, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that would actually happen. Arya knew there was a chance none of them would return from the journey to the far north.

Mance swept inside the tent, startling Arya out of her thoughts and she stood as a dozen men followed behind him. They were all at least twice her size in height and muscle and Arya straightened her spine, trying not to show how frail she felt in comparison.

“You’re all coming with me?”

“Aye.” Tormund said gruffly. Arya had only met the man twice in her trips here, but he seemed to be someone the Freefolk feared and respected.

She wondered briefly why all these men would choose to go with her but shook herself of the thought. She would just be happy that they were because the more men came with her, the more likely it was that her mission would be a success.

“We leave at first light, it’ll be cold gettin’ there but we can sleep at the Crow’s castle before crossing, from there we are on our own.” Tormund said. “No turnin’ back, so don’t ye go getting scared when the true north cold set in yer bones.”

“I won’t,” she crossed her arms tightly, eyes narrowed. “It isn’t just the Freefolk at stake, it’s the whole of Westeros. Innocent men, women and children who deserve to be protected. My friends and family as well.”

“Will you be that brave when yer facing death in the face?”

She pictured her family in her mind. Her mother and father, strict but caring, patient and loving. Her three adoring brothers - Robb, the honourable prince who loved her more than anything. Bran, her younger brother who lived inside books and dreamed of being a knight one day. Rickon, her baby brother with bright eyes and an affinity for chasing the cats around Winterfell. Her cousin Jon who she only knew through letters but was determined to meet. And Dany, her best friend since the day she came to live with them.

“I cannot fail.”

She slept in Val’s tent after forcing down some leftover bread and water. The night held a chill that penetrated even the thick fur she had wrapped around herself and Arya tried not to miss her room in Winterfell - the hot hearth and unending sea of blankets and fur in her bed. She was a northerner, her father said she had the wolfblood coursing through her veins but even that thought couldn’t stop the series of shivers that went over her body the entire night.

The next morning they had set out before the sun had even come over the horizon, leaving them to ride in the grey dawn. For hours on end they would ride through the dropping temperature and set up a clustered camp late at night. Arya led their party alongside Tormund. Over the next days she learned more about each of her companions. All of them were unmarried and had no children, Arya tried not to dwell on why that was.

She thought of them as her friends by the time they spotted the tall gates of Castle Black. As they rushed inside, anxious for a warm meal and hot fires, Arya stretched her fingers out - trying to shake the stiffness away.

“That won’t help, the cold got ye now.” Tormund nudged her before gracelessly jumping off his exhausted horse. Arya followed suit, sliding off her saddle and bracing herself against the numbness in her legs as the blood began to flow through them.

“Princess Arya,” she turned towards the older man and judging by the fur around his shoulders, Arya surmised he was the Lord Commander. He bowed at the waist deeply. “It’s my honour to welcome you and your companions to Castle Black.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Commander.” she bent her knees in a respectful acknowledgement of him. “My men need rest and food, if you wouldn’t mind providing it.”

“Of course, Princess.” Men of the Night’s Watch reluctantly led Arya’s Freefolk party away, leaving her alone with the Commander. “If you don’t mind me asking, to what does the Night’s Watch owe this visit?”

“I’m going beyond the Wall,” she started.

Something in her face must have told him how little chance there was of convincing her to stay, how she had made up her mind that there was nothing anyone could do to change it, because he nodded stiffly and gestured to the stairs behind her.

Arya took them two at a time, hurrying to get out of the cold and next to a hot fire. Commander Mormont followed closely behind her. Pushing the last door open, Arya stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief as the heat swept over her icy cold skin.

Arya shrugged off her cloak and turned back to Jeor before he could leave, “Commander Mormont, do you have spare parchment?”

“On the desk, Princess, sleep well.”

Arya grabbed a sheet and quill off the desk and moved closer to the fire. She tapped the extra ink off before pressing the tip into the parchment. She would write one to each member of her family in case she didn’t come back to tell them how sorry she was that she failed and they would have to face the Dead without her, that she loved them and hoped for their safety.

_ Dear Father _ ,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to go on a mini rant and it’s anti show, lowkey anti show Sansa and anti northern independence so if you don't want to hear that, I suggest not reading the rest of this note.
> 
> The North ending up independent at the end of the show is ridiculous. They literally CANNOT survive on their own - they can’t grow enough food and have nothing worth trading for. Sure Bran is King of the other kingdoms (although I doubt very much Dorne and the Iron Islands stick around for long) but he can’t give the North everything they need to survive because thats not how economy works or trade between kingdoms/countries. You don’t just go to a store, grab a cartful of food and leave - you have to pay. And the North has no money because *drum roll* they are a dependent. I get the whole power play Sansa went for and she got the crown but it’s not going to do her much good when there’s an uprising because the Northern people have one can of beans to share. And before you bring up Robb, Robb was chosen by his people and became independent to fight against the Lannisters for his family - Sansa elected herself in the council and became independent for herself despite her brother already somehow becoming king. It’s just such a stupid move on everyone’s part. Like sure let’s leave the North up there to starve so Sansa can feel empowered.


End file.
